Day in the Life
by InRainville
Summary: A day in the life of Brittany and Santana, still in Lima post-high school. Reviews appreciated.


Day in the life

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, and belong to their respective owners._

_Spoilers: Nothing substantial_

Tiffany's day starts off, as usual, with her alarm kicking on at 7:15. She rolls out of bed and staggers in to her mother's room to wake her up, a process that can take a good ten, fifteen minutes of poking and prodding and yelling and coaxing.

Tiffany's been doing this for the past six months or so, ever since she started second grade. Up until then, they'd usually gotten to school late, her mom occasionally not rolling out of bed until 9, leading to an endless stream of notes that Tiffany had to bring home and parent-teacher conferences that always left her mom looking confused and a little sad.

Not to mention how much Santana yelled when she heard about it.

So Tiffany decided to start taking charge of things over the summer. Now she's the one that wakes up on time, gets her mom out of bed, and keeps them both on track and on schedule while they shower and dress and have breakfast. Breakfast, at least, is usually made easier by Santana making extra and leaving it out for them - eggs or pancakes or something - so all they have to do is eat and run.

This morning Tiffany's going over her science report while her mom drives. She sees Tiffany muttering to herself, and tries to lean over the passenger seat to see what Tiffany's staring at, even as they're doing 50 down the highway.

Tiffany expects something like this to happen, so she holds out an arm to push her mom back and keep her facing straight ahead while Tiffany finishes practicing the rest of her talk, ignoring her mom asking "What is that? What are you doing?" over and over.

Finished, Tiffany sighs, and and leans back in her chair. "It's my science report on dolphins. We have to turn in the report and do a presentation in front of the class. Without notes, or reading off of the paper, or anything. So I have to practice. I think I've got it down, though."

Tiffany's mom frowns. "That sounds hard. I hated having to remember speeches and stuff in school. I hope it goes OK." And then, within moments, just as Tiffany expects, her mom's entire expression changes from a frown to a vacant, happy smile, like a cloud shadow rolling away to let the sun out. "Dolphins are just gay sharks, did you know that? Sharks are really neat and big and tough. Dolphins are just wussy and have names like 'Flipper' and stuff. Totally gay."

Tiffany shakes her head. "I don't think that's right, mom. Sharks are fish and dolphins are mammals, like dogs and people and stuff. They're warm-blooded and have big brains. Sharks aren't like that."

Tiffany's mom speaks up again. "Are you sure? I thought they were..."

"No, mom," Tiffany says, cutting her off. "It's like when you told me that Seattle was built on top of a really big boat, or that Twizzlers are just cherry-flavored spaghetti. My teacher says I shouldn't listen to you about stuff so much."

"Oh," Tiffany's mom says softly, and keeps driving, staring straight ahead.

"...but I like listening to you, mom," Tiffany says after a moment. "You're funny. So don't worry about what my teacher says."

"Oh," Tiffany's mom says a little louder, and smiles.

And then they're at school, with a good five minutes to spare. Tiffany grabs her backpack from the back seat, gives her mom and hug and a kiss, and reminds her she has to go straight to work before heading inside.

Brittany smiles as her daughter waves back at her once more time before heading inside, and heads back down the road for work.

* * *

Santana's been at the dealership since seven thirty that morning. All her sales records and paperwork are up to date, and she can focus on making deals the rest of the day.

That doesn't mean she wants to wait around while these dumbasses make up their mind on something that should be perfectly obvious.

The couple she's spent the past two hours with is huddled over to one side of the showroom, glancing between the C-class Mercedes and Santana, who's been keeping herself mock-busy by forcefully clicking through meaningless spreadsheets and rustling papers on her desk. But their time is up, and Santana's on the prowl, heading straight for them with spike heels tapping across the tile floor and a determined expression on her face.

"So... have we made a decision yet?"

The woman, Marie, looks down at the floor, and her husband, Hank, waffles. "Well... not exactly..."

It's taken Santana the past three years to learn to suppress her natural reactions, but she's finally gotten to the point where she can resist the urge to sigh loudly and roll her eyes in impatience.

Dumbasses.

Couples are the worst to sell to. Solo guys are a piece of cake - any guy buying a luxury car from her is just looking for a status symbol, and that means they're looking to sleep with her as much as anything. Which she doesn't really mind doing, as long as the guy's cute and has a good credit score... but when you've got 'em by the dick, you can lead them into just about anything, as coach Sylvester used to say.

Single women aren't that hard either; all Santana has to do is figure out if she's dealing with someone who's more of an alpha bitch than she is. If no, it's easy enough to cow them into buying, if yes, she just acts polished and deferential and gets out of the way so the woman can buy the car she's clearly already decided on.

But couples can cancel it all out. The guys are still into her, but she can't play with that or else the wife or girlfriend gets upset and drags them both out of there. And she can't intimidate a weak-willed woman, because then the guy gets all protective and then they leave. The trick with couples is to play on whatever mutual hopes and fears are pushing them together in the first place... which can be a pain in the ass to figure out.

This time it's not so hard to guess, though.

"I see. Well, you know, maybe this isn't the right time for you two. It's tough economic times, and the payments on a Mercedes can be a little high. In fact..." she flips open a leather-bound binder and starts to look through it "... I think I have the business card of an associate of mine, Tom, at our sister Honda dealership across the road. I'm sure he'd be happy to work with you on finding something a little more in your price range."

"Oh no, no, it's not that!" the woman gushes, giving a big but not entirely convincing smile, while the man says nothing but shakes his head. "We can _afford_ it, of course! It's just.. we're not entirely sold on the model is all. A coupe is _fun_, but perhaps we should be looking at a four-door as being a little more _practical_."

Santana lets herself flash a brief, thin smile. "Certainly, and I can understand that - there are some sedans we can take a look at if you prefer. But it's worth pointing out that those are more... cumbersome, in a lot of ways. They're harder to park, they aren't as fuel efficient, don't handle quite as well... and of course they're a bit more expensive, but that probably wouldn't be a problem for you."

This time both Hank and Marie are laughing nervous laughs and shaking their heads. "Of course not. Well, let me just go get the keys and I think we can take a quick test drive..." She starts back toward the office, mentally counting the seconds until Marie speaks up again.

Three seconds.

"Well, actually, now that you put it that way..." Marie turns to her husband and they stare at each other for a moment, each waiting for the other to call the bluff but neither one willing to pull the trigger and make them walk away, not in front of Santana, not after they already said the money wasn't a problem. Then the moment passes, and Hank smiles and says, "Well, if you're really sure it's what you want..."

And then it's all smiles and handshakes and Santanta heads back to her desk to finish up the paperwork, dotting the i's and crossing the t's on a lease agreement she'd already pretty much finished filling out an hour ago. It's obvious that Hank and Marie won't be able to keep up with the payments on the C-class for long; she's just out of nursing school, making more money than she ever has in her life but not realizing how far that money goes in the real world, and he's a seed salesman who had one good month, but hasn't faced up to the fact that they won't all be that good forever.

Still, it's not her problem - she still gets her commission, and in six months to a year, she'll be able to sell a pre-owned Mercedes to slightly smarter and less greedy versions of Hank and Marie. And for now it's all champagne toasts and photos of her handing over the keys and waving as they drive their fancy new car off the lot, onto the beautiful and scenic streets of Lima freaking Ohio.

Dumbasses.

She finishes the paperwork and leans back at her desk, dialing Brittany on her cell. "Hey, Brit, it's me. So, I made a sale. We should go out and celebrate tonight..."

* * *

"...we should go out and celebrate tonight..." is all Brittany hears before she has to put the phone down and give a big smile as Dr. Daniels and Dr. Stevens walk in to the reception area, barely acknowledging her (even though she's wearing the tight sweater Santana said she should wear) or breaking the flow of their conversation about golf.

It's always about golf.

Brittany thinks "Golf" sounds like the name of a Muppet, but she only said that out loud the one time.

"Brittany? Are you there?"

"Ok, I'm back. But... I don't know if I can go out tonight. I need to find a sitter for Tiffany, and I think I caught a cold from some kid that came through here..."

"No. You're getting out of the house tonight. It's been at least a week since we've gone out for a drink. Longer than that since you've been out on a date with a reasonably hot guy. You will not be some single mom who sits around and watches TV every night, I will not let that happen."

"Ok, but..."

"That's it. Get to it, I'll talk to you later."

Britanny spends the next half hour or so on mundane tasks, chewing her lip and, if not exactly thinking things over, than at least having ideas slowly bounce off of each other in her head.

When Dr. Brown comes by, she's made up her mind.

"Hi Doctor Brown," she says, smiling, head slightly cocked, biting her lip a little - not her best move, but about as good as she can manage, given that they won't let her mess with the office air conditioning and she's been warned before about taking off her bra.

"Hey Brittany," he says, half-distracted but getting pulled in, inevitably, by Brittany's charms. "How's it going?"

"Bored," she sighs, arching her back and stretching her arms up behind her head. "I've done all my paperwork and I'm just sitting here... I don't think this chair's good for my back."

"Oh? Jeez... " Dr. Brown - what's his first name? Jerry? Thomas? Something like that, Brittany can't quite remember - walks around to the reception area and leans against the counter. If somebody asked him right now, he'd probably say he just wanted to get a better look at her chair, but Brittany knows he's getting a good long look at her. She twists in her chair a bit, and winces just a bit, for show, to bring him in closer.

"Yeah, that chair doesn't look like it's got decent lumbar support... is it your back that's hurting you or..." He walks closer to her, then steps back as she stands up, a bit surprised to realize she's a good four inches taller than him, especially in heels. It's no surprise to Brittany though, and it doesn't really matter, any more than it matters that he's going bald or dresses in cheap polo shirts. Santana has a complex set of equations for balancing out a guy's looks, finances, sex appeal, and social standing to figure out how hot he is - she's even got a variable for personality in there, somewhere. She's tried to teach it to Brittany, but Brittany can't ever keep it straight in her head - all she remembers is that doctors are good on the status scale, and that's enough for her.

"Yeah, my back," she pouts, arching it again and rubbing her side. "I keep meaning to go to a chiropractor or a massage place but..."

"Well, you know, I actually have some training in massage, if you don't mind..." Doctor Brown cracks his knuckles and reaches towards her greedily, like a kid on Christmas morning.

Brittany has about half a second to smile at how well things are going before she sneezes, suddenly, followed by another and another.

The noises Brittany makes when she sneezes are ridiculously cute, like a chipmunk, and Santana usually smiles when she hears her. But Santana also knows to step away as soon as it happens, because Brittany's sneezes are also usually accompanied by sudden, violent head jerks when she sneezes.

Santana only had to be head-butted once to learn the lesson, and Dr. Brown probably won't forget it soon either, not between the way her forehead slams down on his bald patch and the way her sneezes cover his face and tie.

"Ow! Ow, dammit, what the..."

"Oh! Oh jeez, I'm sorry, here, let me..." and she's reaching behind her for some tissues, reaching out to him, trying to wipe him off, but it's too late, he's backing away.

"It's... ok, really. I'm just going to go wash up... somewhere else." He's holding his hands out away from him, in disgust over what she's done to his shirt, turning and walking away from her. "You sound pretty terrible, maybe you ought to go home sick or something."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Brown," she calls out behind him, but he doesn't turn to look back. She thinks of chasing after him, but the office phone rings and she's got to answer it.

Back to the grind.

* * *

After lunch the dealership is dead, and Santana, not reduced to cold calling potential customers thanks to her morning sale, is killing some time by reading a magazine at her desk when a shadow blocks out the afternoon sun and a strong wash of cologne - some Calvin Klein variant, she thinks - wafts into her nose.

"Looking good today, Lopez," Wayne says, although she waits a moment before looking up at him. "Very professional. Not surprising you made that sale this morning; people always appreciate a saleswoman who looks as good as the car she sells."

Santana takes a long look at Wayne Sanders before answering. Wayne's unquestionably a huge tool - it's common knowledge around the office that he hits on female customers constantly, and that his doing so was a big factor in his recent divorce. He has long, loud conversations with his lawyer on the phone about custody issues, and he's not above stealing potential sales from other salespeople, given the opportunity.

On the other hand, he's almost as good a salesperson as Santana, and he's one of the few guys in Lima who knows what a good suit is and how to wear it.

"How's the day been going for you, Wayne?"

"Pretty fair, pretty fair. Got a nice big nibble this morning; he'll be back. And I've got someone else coming in half an hour that's a lock to buy an SL. In fact," he says, adjusting his cuffs, "I wanted to find out if you'd be interested in celebrating our success today, after work. You're the only other person here who can appreciate what it takes to close the deal - we should recognize that we're simpatico and see where that leads us."

Santana doesn't really flirt anymore; she realized years ago that with her looks the best and most successful approach was just to be utterly direct about what she wanted. And even though he's not particularly likable, it's impressive to Santana on a personal level that Wayne doesn't screw around with this stuff either.

"Ok, sure. You know Sloe, that bar next to the insurance building? Meet me there at six-thirty; I'll be with a friend."

"Awesome. I'm sure any friend of yours is someone I want to know better. Six-thirty, see you then." He gives her a practiced but fairly decent smile - just the right amount of teeth - and walks off.

"Later," she says, not looking at him, but reaching down for her cell phone again. She dials Brittany with two quick button presses, and waits for the pickup.

"Hey. So we're meeting at six at Sloe tonight. Who're you bringing?"

Brittany's voice comes across a lot more nasal than usual. "Nobody... Santana, I don't think I can make it tonight. I'm really not feeling good..."

She pauses for a moment before replying. "Brit, this is getting ridiculous. Today you're not feeling well. Tuesday you had to watch some damn show on tv. Last Friday you couldn't find a sitter. And when you end up staying home, I end up staying home. This is not acceptable. We are both way too hot not to be dating other equally hot guys, but it hasn't been happening, and it's because you don't seem to be trying hard enough. Did you even _bother _to - "

"Well, I tried, but I hit the guy by accident and -"

"You _hit_ a guy by _accident_? How do you... never mind, I don't want to know. This is ridiculous. Brit, I love you, but how freaking dumb can you possibly be? We're stuck in this goddamn town, and I'm trying to make the best of it for us, but it's like teaching a rock to dance these days. You never _used_ to have problems getting guys to chase after you..."

"Santana, I know, it's just... it's just hard sometimes..."

"Seriously, it's been going on for _years_ now. The reason we're still here in the _first_ place is because you forgot to use a freaking condom in senior year, so good-bye dance academy and I have to stay behind and take care of you. And if you'd even been bright enough to _realize_ that Mike knocked you up, rather than it being a surprise to everybody in your freaking sixth month, you could have gotten an abortion and we still could have gotten the hell out of Lima!"

There's silence for a long time on the other end of the line, and Santana starts to think the call got dropped when Brittany speaks up again.

"That's mean, Santana."

Now it's Santana's turn to take a moment before talking. "Brit... look, I didn't mean it that way. You know I love Tiffany and I'm glad you -"

And then there's a beep on the other end of the line - Brittany's hung up on her. She leans back in her chair, and puts her hand over her eyes.

"God damn it."

* * *

Tiffany's out front when school lets out, showing her two best friends a dance move she invented for their new favorite song when her mom pulls up. She waves good-bye and climbs in the front seat, then turns to see her mom, smiling at her, but pale and sweaty and a little red-eyed, for some reason.

Tiffany reaches up and across to put her hand on her mom's forehead, then pulls back quickly. "Mom, are you feeling ok? You look really bad and I think you've got a fever."

Brittany smiles again, and shakes her head. "Yeah, I think I'm coming down with something, don't get too close - but it's not that bad. I just need to get home and get some sleep. How was your day?"

"It's was ok. My dolphin report went good, my teacher gave me an A minus. And there's this new song that Kaitlyn played us on her iPod, I gotta download it when we get home, it's awesome! I think you and Santana will really like it too."

Brittany's smile falters. "Santana might not be home until late tonight, baby. I think she said she was going out."

Tiffany shakes her head and looks out the window. "You always say that, and she always ends up staying home. I think she likes being home with us, and watching tv and singing and dancing and playing games with us a lot better than going out with stupid boyfriends. You'll see."

Brittany nods. "I guess so." And there's silence for a few minutes as they drive down the road together towards their apartment complex, Brittany chewing her lip and Tiffany swinging her legs and looking up at the big grey storm clouds on the horizon.

And then, just as Tiffany been waiting for, her mom's expression changes into a vacant happy smile. "Hey," Brittany says. "Did you know that when ducks travel, they just fly up in the clouds and sit on top until the clouds get where they're going? It's called 'balladeering'."

* * *

At around 6PM, Santana finally admits to herself that no more customers are coming in through the pouring rain, so she grabs her coat and her purse and starts towards her car. She slows down passing the break room, and listens to Wayne for a moment, who's once more screaming into his cell while seated at a table.

"...Jesus, Mac, I don't want to be stuck with that much! You're my lawyer, you tell me! She makes a pretty good salary, why do I have to pay that much in... Well, I know the child support number is a separate process, but there's no way we can shave some of that off? ... Well, shit. This is because the judge is a goddamn woman, isn't it? ... Yeah, probably a freaking lesbian too. The man-hating kind, not one of the good ones! Ha! ... Yeah, you take it easy too, talk to you later."

Wayne rubs his hand through his hair, which is, like his suit, a little disheveled by this point in the day. He pauses and straightens his tie when he sees her standing in the doorway. "Hey, Lopez, looking good! You want to head over to that bar now?"

She leans against the doorway and crosses her arms. "I don't know... might not be the best night for it. Kind of a mess out there, the bar'll just be empty and sorta sad, you know?"

Wayne grins, stands up and walks over to her. "Hey, works for me. You want to skip the bar and go directly to my place?"

She shakes her head, but reaches out to touch him on the lips with her index finger, silencing him. "Not tonight... just not feeling it. Maybe some other time?"

He steps back and gives her his polished grin, which is perhaps a little less polished than earlier. "Hey, no problem. We both know that if you want a great-looking guy who knows how to take care of himself, I'm as good as you're gonna get in this town. I can wait as long as it takes for you to figure that out."

"No, I get it, Wayne. Like I said, maybe some other time." She smiles her own practiced smile, turns, and walks away, and Wayne doesn't see her wiping of the finger that touched his lips off on her skirt. Just before going outside she turns her collar up against the rain and runs out, throwing herself into the car as quick as she can.

And she starts it up, heading home to Brittany and Tiffany.

* * *

"Santana's home!" It's the first thing she hears, even before she finishes unlocking the door and carries herself and her grocery bag in, both of which are dripping wet.

"Yeah, I'm home," she calls back, taking off her coat before walking directly into the kitchen and setting her bag down. "I stopped by the market and got dinner, but..." she looks around at the state of disarray in the kitchen "... it looks like you guys already had some."

Tiffany runs in from the living room, smiling. "Mom wasn't feeling well so I made mac-and-cheese for me and her. You can have some if you want, Santanta."

"I can see that," she says, surveying the damage. There's a half-eaten pot of macaroni and cheese, the cheap stuff, from a box, that looks at least half edible.

"Ok, maybe I'll have some mac and cheese, but you gotta have some of the salad I bought. No complaints!" she cuts in, forestalling any dissent from Tiffany. "You have to have a vegetable, otherwise it's not healthy. And your mom said she wasn't feeling well, so I got her some chicken soup to have, ok?"

"Ok." Tiffany smiles again. "I'm glad you didn't stay out late tonight, Santana." And she runs back to the living room, leaving Santana to straighten up the kitchen, put the salad on plates with dressing and nuke a cup of soup for Brittany.

Santana heads out into the living room, putting a plate of salad in front of Tiffany, who's lying on the floor, staring raptly at the tv. Brittany's lying on the couch against a stack of pillows, wrapped up in a blanket, but she looks up and smiles when she sees Santana.

"Hey babe, how are you feeling?" Santana asks, pushing the cup of soup into Brittany's hands before leaning down to put her lips to Brittany's forehead. "Feels like you're running a fever... we need to get you to bed before too long, ok?"

Brittany smiles, and nods. "Thanks for coming home early... I know you wanted to go out tonight. I'm sorry I messed things up... we can go tomorrow!"

Santana chuckles and sets her plate down on the coffee table before sitting down on the far end of the couch, putting Brittany's feet in her lap. "I think it'll take you a few more days to get over this cold, Brit. And it's not a big deal... just a bunch of losers at the bar tonight anyway." She pauses, and looks at Brittany. "I'm sorry about earlier."

Brittany shakes her head, and reaches out her pinky finger. "It's ok. I know you didn't mean to be mean." As Santana links fingers with her, Brittany grins, and coughs, then whispers to Santana. "I don't think I can come to your room tonight, I'm not feeling good."

Santana rolls her eyes - she knows Tiffany knows that most mornings Brittany's asleep in Santana's bed, rather than her own, even if Tiffany thinks it's just a "grown-up slumber party". Still, if it makes Brittany happy to try and keep it a secret, she's willing to play along. "Ok, babe. You rest up, maybe later in the week."

As Brittany nods and turns her head back to the tv, Santana kicks off her heels and reaches back with her free hand to let her hair down from the roll she's had it in all day. She leans back on the couch, and feels stress she didn't even realize she was carrying, in her face and shoulders and stomach, melt away. The faintest grin forms on her lips as she sits there for a minute, before the sound of the tv distracts her and she looks up.

"Tiiffany... what are you watching, exactly?" she says, eyeing what seems to be an endless churn of water and blood and fast, grey shapes.

"It's this program on sharks! They're really fast and tough and cool, and they don't ever stop. You were right mom, sharks are really neat!" Tiffany exclaims, before shoveling a fork of salad in her face and turning back to the tv.

Santana eyes the screen for a minute or two before turning away... the endless hunt is fun to look at for a while, but it's ultimately just tedious and exhausting. She looks over at Brittany, who's still looking at the screen, though her eyes are half closed and Santana knows she's just a few minutes from drifting off. Still, she mumbles something to Santana.

"We're like sharks, right Santana? We're tough and cool and... stuff..." And she's out, just like that.

Santana breaks the pinky hold to squeeze Brittany's whole hand, and repositions herself so she can just sit on her side and see Brittany sleeping, and Tiffany in the distance beyond her.

"No, babe," she sighs, and yawns. "We're more like dolphins."


End file.
